


on the way

by torigates



Series: Slide to Answer [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: Then it dawned on him. “Oh shit, I left a voicemail?”“Mmhm,” Dylan confirmed.





	on the way

**Author's Note:**

> whoops, I didn't mean to leave these two hanging for so long, my bad

Mitch got thoroughly drunk at the MMVAs. 

Walking the red carpet was a trip. Mitch had never felt so simultaneously important and unimportant at the same time. Walking among stars like Carly Rae Jepsen and the Arkells made him and name look like positive nobodies. It was kind of great. He couldn’t remember the last time he went out and felt like the least famous person in the room (that was a lie--he felt that way every time he went out with Willy). 

It was fun to feel like a fan again. To get to see people whose music he enjoyed--freaking Shawn Mendes!--and walk among them like he belonged. 

The awards themselves were a little long. It kept feeling like a concert and not at the same time. He texted Auston _do you think the NHL awards are gonna be better than this?_ and a selfie. 

Auston didn’t reply right away, but when he did it was a selfie of him looking entirely unimpressed. _at least I could win something_ , he said. 

Mitch thought he was probably just jealous and told him so, then he put his phone back in his pocket and resolved to ignore it for the rest of the night. Of course, that lasted only until the next performer came on and Mitch had to take a picture. He tried not to notice anything else--there was an alert from Auston, he would read later--but he couldn’t help noticing there was nothing from Dylan. 

Still. 

Things were awkward between them. They both said things were fine, but Mitch didn’t know how much of that was things really being fine and how much was the two of them just hoping they would be. It didn’t help that they were so far apart, and while Mitch didn’t begrudge Dylan going to Arizona (much), he missed him like crazy. It was hard to know how things were between them really when they couldn’t be together in person. 

He sighed.

“Stop moping,” Lawson said. “We’re at a fucking party, so act like it!” 

Mitch knew he was right and resolved to put everything with Dylan out of his mind. That worked for a little while, the awards _were_ fun and Mitch had pretty excellent buzz going. There was a party they were somehow invited to afterward. Mitch didn’t recognize anyone like super famous, but it all seemed like they knew each other. 

Mitch was always good at small talk, so he just put on his media smile and chatted with a number of different people. A bunch were DJs or agents, others were publicists. Mitch kind of lost the thread of things as the night wore on and he had more and more to drink. 

At some point Mitch became aware that the guy he was talking to--a DJ, he told Mitch his name was DJ Grindz. “Grindz with a ‘z,’” and he pronounced it the American way, zee--was flirting with him. He also had no idea who Mitch was. It was kind of refreshing and Mitch found himself leaning into it a little bit. 

He woke up in his condo the next morning, his head aching. He reached for his phone under his pillow to check the time. It was only just after ten, and he had nowhere to be today, so he let himself fall back against his pillows and dozed. Eventually, his bladder drove him out of bed, and he made his way to the bathroom. His legs were only a little bit shaky underneath him, and he splashed some water on his face. That made him feel better. He drank a couple glasses and that made him feel even better. 

Grabbing his phone he made his way into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. He pulled up instagram while he waited for it to brew. There were some pictures from last night, but only the PR friendly ones they’d posted at the beginning of the night. Mitch admired himself in his new suit, he thought he looked pretty good. 

He remembered that guy hitting on him and chuckled to himself. It wasn’t funny, exactly, but it still made Mitch smile. He liked that someone else thought he was handsome, fuckable, even from the way ‘DJ Grindz’--and Mitch laughed harder at that--had been laying it on thick. 

He thumbed over to his message history, wanting to text Dylan about it, and paused. Would Dylan think it was funny? Normally, Mitch would say yes, but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe Dylan would get mad, or that he would think Mitch liked it. He sighed. 

The thing was, Mitch _did_ like it. He always liked being the centre of attention. He liked it when people flirted and showed their interest in him. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he had been too focused on himself, and expecting Dylan to always be happy for him, that he hadn’t thought enough about what Dylan was going through. Because Dylan was right: there were some things that he couldn’t relate to, and he didn’t know what it was like to be in Dylan’s position. 

Mitch just thought that Dylan was so good, so talented, he took it for granted that Dylan knew that about himself too. That he knew Mitch thought that about him. But what if he didn’t?

He opened his contacts to call Dylan and saw there was an outgoing call at just before three in the morning. It lasted over two minutes. He winced. 

Dylan picked up on the third ring. “How’s your head?” he asked. He sounded amused, but there was the same guarded tone to his voice that coloured all their conversations lately. 

“It’s pretty sore,” Mitch admitted. “Sorry for calling so late. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You didn’t,” Dylan said. There was definitely laughter in his voice now. 

“But…” Mitch said. Then it dawned on him. “Oh shit, I left a voicemail?” 

“Mmhm,” Dylan confirmed. 

Mitch winced. He couldn’t really remember the phone call, more just a vague sense of missing Dylan and wanting to talk to him, and being annoyed. “Shit,” he said. “What did I say?” 

Dylan chuckled. “Honestly? I’m not too sure, it was a lot of rambling. You were telling me about some DJ.” 

“DJ Grindz!” “With a ‘zee,’” he added helpfully. 

“Yeah, I got that much. He was hitting on you, huh?” Dylan asked. He didn’t _sound_ mad, but Mitch knew they were venturing into touchy waters. 

“A bit,” Mitch acknowledged. 

“Sounded like more than a bit,” Dylan said. “From what you were saying last night.” 

“I thought you said I wasn’t making sense,” Mitch said, voice a little sharp. This was starting to feel like a trap or a game, and Mitch hated that. 

“You kept talking about your dick, Marns,” Dylan said. “What was I supposed to think?” And now Dylan sounded annoyed too, and fuck. This wasn’t what Mitch wanted.

Mitch sighed. “You have nothing to worry about. With him or anyone else.” 

“I know,” Dylan said, but he sounded grumpy like maybe he hadn’t. Shit, Mitch didn’t know, couldn’t tell, how bad things were between them, and that was the part that was killing him more than anything else. 

“Fuck, Dyl,” he said. “I can’t do this.” 

“Mitch,” Dylan said.

There was panic in Dylan’s voice but Mitch barrelled over that. 

“I should have been there more for you this season,” he said. “I should have paid more attention to what you were going through.” 

“Please don’t do this,” Dylan said at the same time.

“Do what?” Mitch asked. 

“Wait, what?” Dylan asked. 

“I was caught up in my own season,” Mitch said, feeling confused but also wanting to explain. “Everything with the Leafs was so overwhelming and consuming, I didn’t really think about how hard it would be for you back in Erie. I kinda thought everything would just be the same between us and I didn’t really think about how it wouldn’t be. That wasn’t fair to you.” 

Dylan was quiet on the other end of the line, and Mitch wondered if maybe he was too late to fix whatever was weird and fragile between them, or if he should try to explain himself more, better. He didn’t know if that would make things worse and he hated that, hated feeling unsure about Dylan, when Dylan was the one thing he could usually count on to make sense. Then Dylan’s words sunk in. 

“Wait,” Mitch said. “Please don’t do what?” 

Dylan sucked in a deep breath. 

“Dyl?” Mitch asked. 

There was a sniffle. “Jesus, Marns,” Dylan said. “I thought you were breaking up with me.” 

“ _What_?” Mitch asked. “Why would you think that?” 

“I don’t know!” Dylan shouted. “Maybe because things have been off between us ever since I told you I was going to Arizona for the summer, and then you left me this drunken voicemail about how some dude was flirting with you and would totally take you home, and then you call me today and say you can’t do this anymore! What was I supposed to fucking think?” 

“Um,” Mitch said. When Dylan laid it out like that, it was kind of obvious that Mitch had been a huge asshole. “I guess that sounds pretty bad?” A little giggle escaped his mouth before he could stop it. 

“You _think_?” Dylan asked. He still sounded mad, but he didn’t sound like he was going to cry which was an improvement. “I can’t believe you, you asshole.” 

“Okay well in my defense I never thought you would think I would ever go home with someone who wasn’t you.” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” Dylan asked. “You have the whole fucking city of Toronto at your disposal, and you deserve it. You deserve to go home with that DJ or anyone else you want. You should be living it up and not--” 

“And not what?” Mitch asked. 

Dylan stayed silent. 

“No, okay?” Mitch said. “I’ll admit I was self involved this last year, but come on, Dylan. You always do this bottling shit up thing, and I can’t read your mind. Especially when we’re so far apart. You have to tell me shit.” 

“I don’t want to,” Dylan said quietly. 

It felt like a punch to the gut, and Mitch closed his eyes breathing deeply. “Then what are we even fucking doing here, Stromer?” he asked. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m a loser,” Dylan said. 

Those words hit Mitch harder than anything else, because Mitch trusted Dylan so much, there wasn’t anything he was embarrassed or scared of telling him. The fact that Dylan didn’t want to talk to Mitch, the fact that he was worried about Mitch’s opinion of him, meant that Mitch had screwed up more than he thought. How could they fix this? Mitch wasn’t sure, but he had to try. 

“I wouldn’t,” Mitch said. “I don’t, okay? Ever.” 

Dylan sucked in a breath. “It’s just hard. I hate feeling like I let everyone down. I’ve been working all summer because I don’t want next year to be more of the same, and sometimes it sucks and I don’t know if you really get that.” 

“Maybe I don’t,” Mitch allowed. “But if you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to know?” 

“Okay,” Dylan said. 

“Okay what?” 

“Okay… you’re right,” he said. 

Mitch laughed. It wasn’t funny, not really, but he was just so relieved. He had to let those emotions out somehow. If Dylan could listen to what Mitch was saying, and more importantly, if he could talk to Mitch… then they’d be okay. Mitch knew they would. 

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything. It was bound to happen eventually.” 

“Ha ha,” Mitch said. “Very funny.” He was grinning, the feeling of relief and happiness almost overwhelming. 

“Thank you,” Dylan said. “I thought so.” 

It would be easy to fall into their old pattern of joking and flirting, and honestly there was a part of Mitch--a big part, even--that wanted that, wanted to take the easy way out and just hope that things would get better on their own. But hoping things would get better on their own was a big part of what got them to this point in the first place, and Mitch knew that he owed it to Dylan, and owed it to himself, to try harder. 

“So,” Mitch said. He felt awkward as shit, but that was how things went when it came to learning something new. “Want to tell me about it? Your summer, I mean. And everything.” 

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “I guess I can try.” 

“That’s awesome,” Mitch said. “I’m all ears, Stromer.”


End file.
